


Marks of Darkness

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, M/M, Mild Gore, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Pettigrew had been more loyal to Voldemort? What if Voldemort was more logical, more clear headed in the graveyard? What if more Death Eaters had stood beside the Dark Lord?</p><p>Most of all, what would have happened if Voldemort say Harry as the resource he could have been?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Graveyard: The Beginning

Harry was sweating, panting, as his eyes moved frantically over the scene before him.

Men in robes. Smoke billowing out of a large, claw-foot cauldron. Cedric beside him breathing just as hard.

  

* * *

 

 

A commotion, yelling, and then “Kill the spare.”

Dead weight falling, the weight of a body shaking the ground.

 

* * *

 

Cedric lying dead at his feet. His glassy eye looking up at Harry, death never more real than any portrayal he’d seen on the telly through the slacks of his cupboard.

  

* * *

 

 

They were moving towards him. Wormtail—Pettigrew reaching out to him with stubby, dirty hands. Grabbing his arm. Harry struggled, but he was bound tightly to the stone, barely able to move his forearms at all and gaining no real purchase. Pettigrew pulled out a wicked knife. Long, ornate and sharp as any. And then there was pain, sharp. Spiking to his core. Slicing sloppily across the meat of it.  Gathering the blood in a vial, the only pristine thing in the clearing. Harry grunts, screams behind the gag.

 

* * *

 

 

The men in robes moved around, preparing for something. They hand Pettigrew a sack and the man juggles is with some difficulty.

“Careful you idiot” A high pitched voice yells into the air.

Pettigrew stabilizes himself and walked up to the cauldron.

Holding the bag over the large mixture. He chants, _“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”_ Dumping the bones into the potion before casting aside the sack.

He pulls out the knife again. The one that earlier sliced so easily into Harry’s flesh.

Pettigrew sets the knife to his own skin. Cutting into flesh first. Sweating in pain and the exertion he pulls through the muscle and right to the bone. He saws through, knife sharp but the bone still tough enough to warrant a stronger hand. And as his hand hangs and he’s cutting through the final segment he chants through gritted teeth, _“Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master”_.

As his hand falls into the cauldron, his sacrifice for his lord, he screams in pain. The throbbing, the hurt, it could consume him. But he knows there is a part yet he must complete.

He picks up the vial from its place a ways from the cauldron itself. Careful to avoid touching the container with his bleeding arm, he pours Harry’s blood into the violently boiling concoction. _“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe”_

The cauldron practically glowed in the foggy twilight. A cloaked figure walked up to the cauldron. Placing a form inside. Silence except for the sounds of the cauldron and Harry’s own struggles.

Everything was strange. His scar pained him awfully, nearly as much as his arm. After whatever that mutilates creature had been, was put into the cauldron it was like a white hot poker had been stabbed into him. He’d screamed. He still yelled. But it was muffled and even if it wasn’t who would care? But with a throat raw and body tired, he failed to escape. And so he was stuck. A wicked audience to this ritualistic gathering.

Ritualistic indeed. While the cloaked figures were immobile there was plenty to see from the cauldron itself. The potion sloshed, overflowing from its container. Slender fingers reaching to the lip of the vessel, reaching around and grasping tightly. A figure pulling itself up with precarious strength. Lifting itself out, only to be handed clothing by a bowing cloaked figure.

Dressed, the man stands imperiously.

He grabs his wand from another cloaked figure. Gesturing harshly, he brings Pettigrew in front of him.

“Your arm,” He ask, no orders.

Shaking with pain, barely able to keep the limp stable, Pettigrew offers his left arm, Dark Mark in full view.

It was clear, in ways it had not been before, to the teen against the stone just who this man was. After all, he and Voldemort had had many interactions since his infancy.


	2. The Graveyard: His Return

Voldemort caressed his wand against the mark marring Pettigrew’s skin. So long since such a touch was personal, intimate.

He channeled his magic through the mark. Reaching for those tendrils, those other points of connection and _pulls_. Pulls hard enough to hurt. To burn. After all, why be gentle with those who’d _betrayed_ him.

He turned to his most faithful, the inner circle. Or what was left of it. What was once a strong council was reduced to only five. The rest betrayers or locked away in Azkaban.

“Clean up this mess” He ordered, pointing to the remains of the ritual. Looking to Harry and the body at his feet, “the trash too.”

He turned back to Pettigrew, quickly conjuring a silver hand for the man. “For your faithfulness,” He explained and watched the man attach it to his stump.

He turned to Harry.

“ _Harry,_ ” He caressed the name as he stalked closer to the boy “Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived.  Vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as they say. _Welcome_ my friend”

Voldemort chuckled when Harry was unable to respond. The fabric wound across his mouth, around his head stopping any response. He struggled to move away from steadily the approaching figure.

“Calm, Harry. I won’t do you any harm just yet.”

The sounds of people appariting into the graveyard could be heard. People in similar masks and cloaks lining up.

“Do you know where we are Harry?”

At the boy’s silence, Voldemort continued.

“Little Hangleton, Riddle Graveyard. Unvisited for the past seventy-some years, I suppose.” He looks over to the boy, “My family’s graveyard of course.”

He tuts. “Of course they weren’t much of a family. Abandoning my mother. Her heartbroken. Alive long enough to give birth outside of a delightful little orphanage in London. Dying just in time to christen me with my failure of a father’s name. Leaving me alone for years with wretched muggles.”

Chucking he walks up to Harry and caresses the boys hair, even as Harry tried to move away. “And you’d know all about that wouldn’t you.”

Done with the teen for now he turns his attention to his gathered followers. His numbers were significantly reduced from his last gathering, the night before his encounter with the Potters.

“ _Yes_ ,” He hissed out at those gathered. “Welcome my faithful. For so long, I had been subjected to a wraith of a form, barely existing. But I have returned!” He pulled out his wand, sending a quick blasting hex at his grandmother’s grave stone. The stone was obliterated. Turned to dust that flew into the wind, a gaping hole where it used to be. “Stronger than ever.”

“It’s time to continue where we left off. And you will be there with me, of course. If you’re still dedicated. Still loyal”

He looked at those gathered with distain.

“After all, none but a few worked to find me. To return their master to his proper form. To continue the work that needed to be done.”

His wand pointed at a specific cloaked wizard in the crowd.

“You. Lucius. Betrayer or loyal? After all you were so quick to renounce association with me after I was incapacitated.”

Lucius trembled. “My lord. I did it for you. When you returned you would need strong allies who were available to you. How would I help you form behind bars?” He explained with barely a shake in his voice.

“Hmm. _Crucio_ ” He cast the curse on the man. Lucius falling to the grown writhing in pain, screaming into the open air. After a while, Voldemort lifted the curse. “Yes of course, Lucius. However, your lack of assistance in my revival will be noted.”

And he continued in this manner. Both judge and executioner. Crucios aplenty were given. And quite a few received a death curse between the eyes.

Harry was horrified. One. Two. Five. Six. Too many bodies on the ground. Cedric’s had been banished somewhere. The lack of care for human existence terrified him. He struggled. He fought against his bindings and yet, they only seemed to get tighter.

Voldemort turned away from his followers. “Be gone for now”. He ordered them and they wasted no time in leaving, pops of apparition ringing through the air. He threw a sharp look at Pettigrew who quickly scampered away as well.

He turned to Harry.

“As for you Mister Potter. I have plans for you.”

 


End file.
